


When I am King

by literallyme22



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: King Sherlock, Knight Watson, M/M, Moriarty - Freeform, Prince Sherlock, kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallyme22/pseuds/literallyme22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I am king, there will be nothing stopping this moment from happening. A thousand men with a thousand swords could not stop me. I promise you, I will get what I want"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In a kingdom of old, older than that of the Kingdom of Arthur, that lived a prince by the name of Sherlock. He was tall and smart and had a beautiful mop of curly hair on his head. Looking at his cheekbones you might actually cut yourself. But the young boy didn't care about his looks, except that he could use them to get what he wanted. No, he preferred to rely on wit to solve his problems.  
He was attending a dinner with the rest of his family, they were discussing his brother, Mycroft, they were talking of his plans of attack for the warring kingdoms surrounding theirs.  
"Father, I will require the service of a small army to take with me while I...diplomatically take care of the problem." Mycroft announced in between mouth fulls of food.  
"If you are solving this diplomatically, why do you need the entirety of our army?" Sherlock questioned under his breath.  
"Watch yourself young man, your brother is doing more than you are!" Scolded his mother, the Queen.  
Sherlock looked towards his mother and then back down at his food, pushing it around his plate. He knew it was pointless to argue with her, with any of them. So he just asked to be excused and retired to his chambers for the evening. He quickly undressed and put on a pair of old trousers and a loose fitting shirt. Grabbing a pair of riding boots and slipping them on, he jumped from his window and ran into the night. He ran to the horse stables and added a dingy cloak, often worn by servants, that he hid with the horses and left. He walked for a bit in the dark, entering into a darker part of the kingdom and found a local apothecary.  
"Be it you 'gain?" he asked  
"Yes, it is. Do you have my supplies?" Intoned the prince.  
"Ey yer Majesty, but if you don't mind me asking, why'd ya get these from me when ya have yer own doctor at the palace?" the apothecary wondered, handing him a vial with a clear elixir in it.  
He didn't answer, he just gave him the money and left, returning home. He put his cloak with the horses and scaled the wall to his chamber. Even though it was on the third level of the castle, a bunch of vines growing along the walls gave him the ability to come and go as he pleased. Entering his window he swung a leg over and sat on the ledge, dangling the other over. He uncorked the vial and took a hard swig, and whilst he did, the mans words hung in his mind. If he were to return to his own medicine man, he would have to let his addiction be known to his parents, for it is their responsibility to maintain knowledge of what the future king is putting in his body.  
If Mycroft were not engaged to a woman of another kingdom, one with more power than their own, it wouldn't matter what Sherlock did with himself. But because the responsibility of ruling would someday fall on his shoulders, his parents refused to allow him to take mood altering drugs for they were afraid he would change, in a worse off way than he already was.  
It was unknown to Sherlock how many hours he sat there, just thinking. The drug, to which he could not remember the name of, calmed everything around him so he wouldn't have a mental break everyday. When the sun began to rise in the distance he climbed down from the window and crawled into bed.  
why can't i just die? he thought as he drifted off to sleep, hoping for death to take him. But when he woke later that morning, he was not surprised, only disappointed.  
He gathered some clothes and got dressed. He walked to his favorite place in the entire kingdom, his library. He picked up a random book and walked over to the window bench. Before sitting down he pushed open the window to listen to the sound of the light drizzle occurring outside. He made himself comfortable and began to read. Hours had passed and he was almost done with the book when he herd the clatter of swords crashing against one another.  
Setting his book down he peered out the window. It looked as normal as one would expect from a knights practice, but there was a certain knight who caught his eye. He was blonde, and strong. Though rather short, he stood out from the others.  
Although Sherlock had no recollection of this knight, he knew one thing for certain, he was going to learn everything he could about him, because he had never seen anyone so...so extraordinary.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he gathered himself together, Sherlock marched down to his father in the throne room. On his way down the three levels of the castle and crossed a number or extravagant corridors to get to the King, the young prince was wondering how he would go about asking his father for the information about the mysterious knight outside. Sherlock had almost always been aware of the fact he preferred men to women, but he very rarely gave thought to the possibility of him marrying one, well at least not for love. It wasn't completely uncommon for two men to be legally binned to one another similar to that of a man and women, but it was usually for the purpose of a business agreement or to create a stronger alliance when a maiden was lacked by both parties. He understood that whomever he married, it would most likely be for his kingdom, not his heart.  
And so, as the scared prince approached his father, he questioned himself for even considering asking. He knew it would end in a problematic way, but as he pushed the doors open, fueled by curiosity, he did not seem to care.  
Standing for a moment or two in front of his father, Sherlock waited with the hope he would soon know all he would need to. Noticing the papers in his fathers hands that seemed to drip with threats of war, he began to second-guess his mission again. He wanted to know, but was it worth it to push ones father whilst they are already under such pressure? Curiosity getting the better of him he cleared his throat and waited for his father to acknowledge him. After clearing his throat a few more times, his father spoke up, but did not remove his eyes from his papers.  
"Yes Sherlock, what is it?" he asked.  
Choosing his words very carefully, he began, "I was wondering who the blonde knight outside, under the library window, was? He seems to have some excellent talents in fighting but I do not recognize who he is."  
The King stiffened enough for Sherlock to notice and begin to worry. Lowering his papers and looking towards his son, he appeared very stunned. He knew what was happening and he was going to stop it. Standing up to tower over his son and hopefully scare him a bit, the king, spoke, unable to conceal the tremble in his voice.  
"Could you please describe this young man?" he asked, hoping it was not who he thought it to be.  
"Well, I noticed a young, blonde man outside-below the library window-when a loud clashing distracted me from my reading. I looked out at them and saw him. He seems fairly short, but still a remarkable fighter. I'm sorry I cannot be more descriptive, but I saw him from a fair distance."  
"Oh," uttered the king, distaste filling the room as he spoke, he was correct,"I do not believe I know of whom you speak of. There are a great deal of well trained knights, I do not even know how many are blonde or bald or whatever. If you want to know so badly you should have inquired him for his personal information. Besides, why would you even want to know who he is?" He said, pushing away from the subject of the knight himself and more towards that of the question being raised.  
"I just did not know who he was and thought I should be up to date on those who help defend our kingdom, especially if I may have to rule over it some day."  
"Of course," said the king, sitting down and raising his papers again,"I understand. But I do not know who he is, nor do I care at the moment, I have put men in charge of that. For now my concern is where to send my troops not who's in them."  
"Of course father. I'm sorry for bothering you." He said and began to walk out the room when his father stopped him.  
"And Sherlock, I would highly advise you to keep your nose out of this. You are not king yet, and this is not your responsibility. Understand?" The king said, once more removing his eyes from the declarations of war and examining his son from a distance.  
"Yes father, I understand."  
"Good, you may leave now."  
And with a nod, Sherlock left. Climbing once more the stairs to the library. He returned to his spot in the window and looked down at the knights training. He was watching the blonde knight fight. He had taken down every one of his opponents and seemed to be facing a new one. This one Sherlock knew. Lestrade, grey hair and a fair fighter. Very useful when Sherlock needs anything.  
They seemed very into the fight, both battling as if it were their life on the line. The blonde knight got an upper hand and took Lestrade down, but instead of finishing him like a traditional battle, he offered his hand to help him up. Lestrade slung his arm over the knights shoulder, and shouting, gave Sherlock some information. As he brushed off some grass with one hand and patted the knight on the shoulder, he said  
"Good on you, Watson. You are a fair adversary, that is, for a doctor."  
So his name is Watson? And he is a doctor?  
wondered Sherlock. Continuing to listen he heard a deep chuckle that made him feel warm inside followed by a low voice commenting on the comment of his being a doctor.  
"Oh sod off Lestrade, and call me John. If anyone says Watson, I'll think my old man is here." he said, laughing again.  
John.  
Feeling a warmth rise through his body, Sherlock found himself smile. He watched them as the gathered their things and began to head off to a local pub or home. He sat there for a while longer, hoping for him to return, but nothing happened. After some time it became dark, and, not knowing what hour it was, shuffled down the hall to his room.  
Opening the drawer of his dresser and removing a fake bottom, he retrieved the vial he had stashed earlier. Taking a drink of what remained, he reminded himself to purchase more than one bottle next time. He place the bottle in the drawer and closed it. Stumbling over to his bed, he didn't bother to remove his clothes. With consciousness fading, he thought of one thing.  
John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for not updating sooner. I have all the story planned out, it's just a matter of time as to how I want to conduct it. I hope you guys enjoy it. Please comment and tell me how you feel about the story, and I will take how you feel and try and manage it into the creating of the story better. Thank you and I hope you like it


	3. Chapter 3

Waking with an uneasy feeling, he did his best to put his thoughts in order. He knew he had finished what remained in the bottle, he recalled talking to his father, but what was it about?  
Though he was beginning to grow accustomed to the high he received when he drank the strange tasting liquid, Sherlock never quite got over how he felt afterwards. He was often disorientated and his memories were clouded at the best. Eventually it would all come back to him, but for now he sat on his bed, clutching his head as if he had a bad hangover, which wasn’t completely far off from what he was experiencing.   
He stumbled across the room to the water basin and began to splash his face, feeling slight relief in the actions. He cupped his hands together and drank some of the water. Dabbing his face with a towel he walked to his dresser and pulled out some clothes. He could not remember what, but he knew he was doing something very important today.  
As he buttoned his shirt, there was a knock on the door.  
“Enter.” Sherlock said in a commanding voice. The door opened and a small man walked in. Nicholas, the family’s head butler, came in.  
“Sir, the Queen demands your attendance to breakfast immediately.” He said.  
“Will that be all?” The young prince asked, annoyance dripping in his voice.  
“Yes, your highness.” Nicholas returned, unfazed by the attitude.  
“Then you may tell mother I will be down soon.”  
“Yes sir, thank you.” He said, exiting the door he just passed through moments ago.  
Of course mother would want to see me, I have something important to do and she always has to ruin things… _I just wish I knew what it was I was going to do… _  
Sherlock finished getting ready and walked downstairs to the royal dining hall where his mother was waiting for him.  
“Hello Sherlock dear,” muttered the housekeeper, Madame Hudson, “Would you like some tea?”  
He didn’t say anything; he just gave a quick nod and a small smile, nothing real or strong, but just enough for her to be happy. Madame Hudson was never rude to Sherlock; in fact she was rather kind to him. She always picked him up if things got rough with his father and helped him, well tried to, when she found out about his substance issues.   
As she bustled into the kitchen to get him a cup of warm leaf water, his mother pulled out the chair next to her and motioned for him to come sit next to him. Not wanting conflict this early in the morning with so much to do, he did.  
“Sherlock, son, how are you?” She asked, looking almost concerned.  
“I’m fine mother, how are you?” He asked, knowing manners were of up most importance to her.  
“I am well, but worried, worried about you Sherlock.”  
“Me? Why are you worried about me?” Sherlock asked, he was actually quite surprised she showed any concern at all.  
“Well, you see, no one ever sees you anymore. You remain locked away in your room, or your library, you never sit with us to enjoy a meal, you do not talk with your father about war strategies, nothing at all.” She paused, as if she had worked herself up just mentioning the supposedly terrible things, “And, and now, you come down to talk to your father about...about a man! Of all things, you know thoughts like that will send you to hell!”  
Understanding now why he had been called down to dine with his mother, Sherlock began to sink into his chair and waited for Madame Hudson to return and save him, if only for a moment.  
As if being able to sense his need for help, Madame Hudson strolled in, caring a tray with a tea pot, cup, and from the looks of it, some sugar and light, fluffy pastries she baked herself. Setting it all down next to him, she began to serve him. Giving him three spoonful’s of sugar, he despised how bitter tea is, and setting down a tart that seemed to be filled with strawberries, she gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder to let him know the entire kitchen and castle staff could hear him mother and were all waiting for him when he needed it. He looked over, gave her a smile-that wasn’t entirely fake-and gave a small ‘thank you’ before she turned to attend the queen.  
Once she left, his mother continued.  
“I mean really Sherlock, it is one thing to be bound to a man for the purpose of business, but for pleasure will not be tolerated in this kingdom, at least not while I live.”  
He had remembered why he was talking to his father, but he could not remember who he asked about. _God, what was his name? _  
“Mother, I was simply asking about him because I did not recognize him and…” He started but was cut off.  
“Don’t you start that with me young man. I know your father may believe your lies on this one, but I am your mother, and I know what you were doing. And I can tell you this,” she got up and inched over Sherlock’s face, “I will not tolerate any of it, understand?”  
He could only nod.  
“Good, now, I expect you to eat dinner with us every night, so be here, 7 o’clock or you will be punished.” She said, and without a response, she walked out of the room to only God knows where.   
Sitting up, he moved his tart around the plate before getting up and walking towards the stairs. He was heading to the library, put his hand on the railing and held tight to balance himself. Walking up was difficult for him. Not because the drugs were in his system, though they still were, but because his mother had never snapped at him like that before. He was on the second flight of the stairs when a name came into his mind,  
_John Watson _  
 _That’s it! The name! _  
Sherlock let go of the railing and ran as fast as he could to the library, towards the window where his book still sat for the day before. He heard the man’s laugh before he saw him. Looking out the window, he peered out at the man.  
He watched the boys train for a while, but decided he needed to stop and picked up his book. He amerced himself in the story and was surprised that when he finished it was nearly 7. Rushing down the stairs, he sat in his usual spot and waited for his parents to arrive.  
After about ten minutes or so, his father arrived, sitting down at his normal seat, eyes dead tired, but when they looked at his younger son, they shone with sadness and apology.   
_Was he actually sorry for telling mother? _  
Sherlock was unable to ponder this thought for long because his mother entered the room and both men had to stand and wait until she sat down.  
Food was served soon after, and they sat in silence for a moment.  
 _If this is what dinner is like every night, maybe it will not be so bad… _  
Sherlock thought, but as he pushed his food around his plate, his mother made an announcement.  
“I would like to share some very important news with you both.”  
He and his father set down their silverware and turned to face the queen, who was now standing.  
“I have been corresponding with a lady of nobility in our kingdom, she seems to have some very similar…views as me and has a daughter about Sherlock’s age. I have invited her and her daughter over tomorrow for tea. I expect you both to be there to meet this young lady, from what I have heard of her daughter, she sounds like an excellent choice to be married to our Sherlock. What do you think dear?” She finished, turning to her husband.  
“What do I think? What do _I _think? Why didn’t you ask me this before? That is what I think. What if I was busy tomorrow and could not possibly come to meet her? What if I didn’t like this ‘lady of nobility’ or her husband, if her and Sherlock marry we will be in-laws with them! What if Sherlock does not like her? Maybe we should plan a meeting that works for all of us, not just you!! And…” He was going to continue, but after stealing a glance at his wife, he knew better. She was enraged, but hid it very well to anyone who did not know her.  
“Good husband, I checked your schedule beforehand, and have been reading up on the declarations of war we have received; they are nothing big enough to cause you to leave tomorrow, as for our son? He does not leave the castle enough to have a schedule that would need to be checked. It has been all planned out for a while now, and I expect you both to be there, clean, and on your best behavior. Is that clear?”  
“Yes dear.” The king looked down at his plate. He may be a king of thousands of men and women and rule his kingdom with a strong and steadfast way, but it was his wife, the Queen, that called the shots. At the end of the day, he knew better than to argue with her.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Yes mother, I will be ready to meet her. What is her name?”  
“Hooper, Molly Hooper.”  
“Very well, may I please be excused; I need to prepare myself for this meeting.” Sherlock asked, learning from his father not to push his mother.  
With a thin, but victorious smile, his mother agreed to let him go. Pushing away from the table, he retreated to the library once more. He grabbed a few novels and sat in the window again. The knights had left by now, so there was nothing to distract him. He read story after story, relishing in the poetry and the mysteries. When he finished his last book in the pile, it was light out and he had only then realized the knights were resuming training.   
_They must get up very early…or maybe I just let too much time slip by? _  
He knew when he became king; he would have very little, if any time to read. So he spent his last few years stocking up on these stories to have when his life changed. He was still holding onto his book when he was leaning out the window watching them practice. It wasn’t just a desire to see John that pushed him to lean further out; it was also the fact that watching the knights work and train together as well. They all fought with such precision and beauty that Sherlock lost himself in the movements that he dropped the book.  
Snapping back into reality he looked down. John had seen it fall and walked over to pick it up. He bent down and grabbed it. Looking up at Sherlock he said,  
“Is this your book, sir?”   
He nodded but then realized he most likely could not see him.   
“It is, do you mind bringing it around to the courtyard entrance? I will be down in a moment to grab it.”  
“Of course, I will be there right away.”  
Sherlock ran out the room and down the stairs as fast as he could. He pushed past Nicholas, who was preparing for tea. Tea would be had in the green house, like usual.   
“We cannot risk it, it could very easily rain on us if we serve tea out in the courtyard. Plus the knights are always training and I do not want our guests to have to deal with such noise!” said Sherlock’s mother after he once suggested the idea of moving tea outside.  
 _At least she has a good excuse this time _  
Thought Sherlock looking out the windows at the dark clouds forming, it could actually rain today, and yet the knights still train.  
He made his way to the hallway that lead to the giant doorway to which the young knight would hopefully be waiting. Sherlock paused to catch his breath, but then stopped thinking of the last time something like this had happened. He was told to wait there for the man to return his lost item and he sat there for hours in the rain, caught a terrible cold.   
_What if that happens again? _  
He was worried, but pushed his thoughts down and walked over to the wooden doors, pulled shut due to the unseasonably chilled wind. He pushed a door open and saw the knight leaning against the stone post attached to the stairs. Sherlock moved past towards the man. He stood there, taking in what he could before he had to return to the real world.  
After a moment, John noticed him standing there, and recognized him as the youngest prince and quickly stood up straight before bowing towards him.  
“I am sorry your majesty, I am just waiting to return something to someone. Please forgive me.”  
“You have nothing to apologize for, and the book is actually mine…” Sherlock said, a little anxious about himself.  
“Oh, here you go, your majesty.” He said, handing him the book. Sherlock took it and the brief touch of skin in the exchange left him breathless.  
“Thank you.”  
“Of course, your majesty.”  
You do not need to address me as ‘majesty’ every time you speak to me. I am just the prince.”   
_I am not even the good prince _______________________  
He thought as he finished what he was saying.  
“Oh, I am sorry your highness. I mean sir, I mean…”  
“Sherlock. Just call me Sherlock.”  
“Right, Sherlock.” He said, a smile playing on his lips.  
“What should I call you solider? It is Watson I presume, correct?”  
“Ah, yes, but I go by John, if that is alright with you of course.”  
“Why would it not be alright with me?”  
“I do not know, I’m sorry.”  
“You do not need to apologize to me, it was my fault the book fell, and I should be the one who is sorry.”  
“No, it was quite alright, in fact, I am kind of thankful the book fell..”  
“How so?” Sherlock asked, worry ringing in his voice.  
“Well, I have seen you in your little window, reading. You are always up there, and I wanted to talk to you. Honestly it may sound insane, but I have just felt this incredible urge to talk to you.”  
“Oh, I..”  
“I know, it sounds stupid, just forget about it.”  
“No, I was going to say I felt the same. Would you like to talk now?”  
“That sounds lovely.”  
“Great, we…”  
“Sherlock! Get in here, Molly will be arriving any moment now!” Sherlock’s mother yelled.  
“I guess now will not work out.” John muttered, disappointed.  
“No, but would you be able to stay around late? Tea should not go too long, and then I will come out and meet you here. After 8 o’clock… If that works for you that is?”  
“That sounds perfect. See you at 8.”  
“Wonderful, until then, John.” Sherlock said, extending his hand out.  
“Until then, Sherlock.” Said John, doing the same.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am sorry it took so long for me to update. I hope to become better at updating, but for now here is a new chapter. Feel free to comment any ideas or suggestions you have for me. I love you guys and be safe xx

The problem was not that Molly was boring, in fact, as far as people go, she was one Sherlock approved of. The problem was that he wanted this to be over so he could go and talk to John more; well that and this girl’s mother was incredibly annoying. Tea time with his mother was more than Sherlock could bear most of the time, but with Madame Hooper there as well, he was bound to bash his brains out.  
The hour continued on in an unbearable drag. He and Molly talked, she was rather nice and Sherlock even found himself pitying this girl for having to be the one to deal with her mother when she left. They carried on talking when she mentioned something to him.  
“Sherlock, please do not take this the wrong way,” she said leaning in, “but I do not believe you seem terribly interested in our conversation. If you wouldn’t mind, would you tell me what I am doing wrong?” She asked calmly and quietly as to not draw their mothers out of their own conversation.  
“In all honesty Molly, I am terribly bored of this gathering. There is not enough alcohol in this world to make me drunk enough to endure your mother much longer. I am sorry to you that you must go home with her. It has nothing to do with you, in fact you are not completely boring, but I would rather swallow hot coals than to deal with the irritating conversationalist that is your mother. If you do not mind, and even if you do, I will take my leave now. It was a pleasure to meet you Molly and I would not completely mind spending another afternoon with you, but perhaps leave your mother at home. Toodles.”  
With that, Sherlock rose from his seat and marched out of the room. He knew his mother would soon follow so he did not go to find John; instead he walked to the ballroom and picked up a violin. He began to play and waited for his mother to find him. About two minutes and forty-six seconds later he could hear the click of her shoes entering the room.   
“What was that about?” She asked, no hiding the irritation in her voice.  
“Whatever do you mean?”  
“Oh, you know exactly what I mean. That was very rude, Sherlock. And then, you left me to deal with that! I was able to get them out before she threw a fit, but that poor girl is going to get a mouthful about manners because of you!”  
“I am very sorry mother, but I could not stand that woman babbling on for any longer. She was very infuriating.”  
Relaxing, his mother cracked a smile and he realized she thought the same.  
“That she was,” she said, beginning to chuckle, “That poor girl! She has to deal with that all the time! Oh my! That does not excuse your rude behavior. You will have to write her an apology letter.”  
That seems very tedious.”  
“Would you rather say you’re sorry to her face? At least this way you don’t have to talk to her in person.”  
“Very well. It will be on the table at breakfast.”  
“Alright love, I am heading upstairs, I am going to enjoy a bath and then head off to bed, and I’ve had enough excitement for a day. Goodnight, Sherl”  
“Goodnight mother.” He said leaning down to kiss her cheek.  
Waiting for her to leave, he finished his piece he was working on prior to their talk. Once finished, he went down the hall to the courtyard doorway. Pushing it open, he could hear the knights still practicing. Turning around, he went up to the library, grabbed a book and went back down to the kitchen. He grabbed the largest tea cup he could find and filled it up with the still-warm liquid. Adding some sugar, he walked back out to the courtyard steps and sat there waiting. He read for a while, not noticing the arrival of another body until there was a tap on his shoulder.   
Sherlock quickly looked up from his book to find John standing there; he looked ashamed, as if it was a sin to touch him.  
“I am sorry to disturb you; I just thought you wanted to continue our talk?” He asks, timidly.  
Sherlock smiled. “Of course.”  
They sat and talked for hours, discussing literature and personal interest. John was skirting around a topic and when Sherlock pulled it out of him, he was very shocked.  
“So how was your…date?”  
Sherlock was taken aback by the question and took a moment to regain his voice enough to answer.  
“It was atrocious.”  
“Was she not your type?”  
“No she wasn’t, but she wasn’t the problem. Her mother was terrible and I was contemplating stabbing her with a sugar spoon when I finally left.”  
“Ah, that sounds about right. So you don’t see yourself meeting this girl again?”  
“No, she was actually rather nice; I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.”  
“Oh, but I thought she wasn’t your type?”  
“No, she isn’t, I meant more of as friends.”  
“Oh. Well, what is your type?”  
Sherlock flashed a small smile.   
“Frowned upon by the church and crown.”  
“Huh?”  
“I don’t really…you know, never mind.”  
“Alright. Do you by chance know the time?” John asked.  
“It seems to be rather late considering that lack of staff. The staff tends to finish cleaning at around 1 o’clock, and it has been quiet for quite some time so I would say around 2 or 3 in the morning.”  
“Oh, I need to be leaving soon! I am sorry to keep you up so late.”  
“No, no, it is my fault. Anyway, I don’t know if I would have been in bed at this hour. I tend to stay up late.”  
“I understand,” John said getting to his feet and offering his hand to pull Sherlock up, “Could we do this again?”  
“I think that would be a great idea.” Sherlock said, smiling.  
“One more thing, please do not think little of me for asking, but, may I kiss you?”  
Sherlock felt his heart stop and then start again. He swore John could hear it, it was thumping so loud. He couldn’t speak at all. John took this negatively.  
“No, I am so sorry. Never mind your highness; it was a mistake I apologize.”  
“Oh, I am sorry, no I mean yes you can kiss me and I was just startled and caught off guard. I think you kissing me would be a wonderful thing.”  
“Really?” John asked, looking up sheepishly.  
Sherlock nodded. John climbed up the stairs separating them and placed both arms on either side of the taller man. He leaned up quickly and pressed his lips on Sherlock’s.  
For what seemed like forever they stood and stayed in the exact position, the only noise was their hearts in a synchronized beat.  
In what was actually a few seconds, they broke apart. John looked up at Sherlock who still had his eyes closed.   
“Goodnight, Sherlock.”  
“Goodnight, John.”   
John pecked the side of Sherlock’s cheek before quickly running off into the night. Sherlock turned, walked into the castle, and made his way to his room. He was more like floating rather than walking. When he made it to his chambers he fell onto his bed. His lips tingled from the touch of John’s. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, Sherlock Holmes, Prince and future King, fell into a deep sleep without a single drug in his system.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being published on two sites. One being Archive of Our Own and the other one is Quotev. Here is the link for the account http://www.quotev.com/28558013. Both are mine.  
> Thank you and I hope you enjoy this story.


End file.
